


The Calm Before the Storm

by allsovacant



Series: something to cry on [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fiction, Johnlock Roulette, Light Angst, M/M, Possible Character Death, Romance, Sleepy Cuddles, brief idea of the Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Eight beats on a music sheet and Sherlock felt John's fingers make its way to his messy curls tugging them lightly.





	The Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is for FinAmour's June prompt: #Always1895 supposed to be a cuddle prompt that ended up with less cuddles. Ha. Ha. Ha. 
> 
> A lame excuse of mine to try and write a terrible art of making love. Forgive me, Fin.

Sherlock couldn't sleep. He glanced up on his side and stared at the small clock on his bedside table. It was half past two in the morning. With John facing him and sleeping soundly beside him, an arm around his waist, the duvet covering the lower portion of their body–he should be asleep. They had a pleasantly exhausting night–of dinner, cuddling on the sofa, sharing little kisses that warmed their bodies–John straddled on his lap and kissing him tenderly. Soon they retired naked to bed, but for the reason only Sherlock knows, he wanted to treasure the night with John. Because if everything ends well and according to his, Molly and Mycroft's plan, this wouldn't be the last night they would share together. It wouldn't be just a memory. But if their plans go amiss, then Sherlock assumes John had a night he could remember and go back to. An anchor for a ship about to brave the storm.

John's warmth is always the comfort he needed. But his mind just wouldn't stop from thinking. His mind kept on running through the events from the past week. The Asian smugglers, the bombings, the case of Jim Moriarty. Sherlock felt alive once again, his body vibrating with energy. Although it also stirred tensions to his relationship with John, they did managed to pull through. He hears the distant honking of vehicles and occassional whispers of conversations down the street. John's arm crawled up on his, face snuggling on the crook of his neck. With a sigh he heard John murmur, "Shut up."  
Sherlock can't help but smile. Clearing his throat from the vestiges of sleep he replied, "I didn't say anything."  
His deep voice sounded rather loud on the defeaning silence of the night. He felt John's face looked up at him and by the light of the street lamp outside the window, John's blue eyes became deeper in hue with a hint of something he couldn't explain. 

"What's wrong?" He heard John ask. 

Sherlock lifted his finger and thumbed on the corner of John's mouth. "What makes you think something is wrong?" He replied, and added,  
"I'm always like this John, you know me." He tenses as John took his fingers, planting soft kisses on them, not breaking their gaze. John's eyes searching his.  
"Mmm. That's right. I _know_ you well enough. But I also _feel_ you enough and _love_ you enough–to know that something is not right." John raised an eyebrow at him. For a moment he thought John would see through him and so he smirked as he lay on his back turning his gaze on the ceiling, hands on his stomach. He knew John's right. But he couldn't tell him about the plan. Not yet. Not when Moriarty is over. Not when he finishes everything. 

He closed his eyes instead and replied, "I was just thinking of a nice holiday John. I guess, I am finally giving up my will to resist your tedious list of 'Things to do and places to travel for William Sherlock Scott Holmes and his awaited break from his much important work." 

He felt the mood lighten as John chuckled, a sound Sherlock loved, "You make it sound that I'm forcing you to be with me for a few days." 

John shifted to face him, "Bloody hell, love, just last night–" But he didn't let John finish as he cut the words out of his lips with a searing kiss. 

Eight beats on a music sheet and Sherlock felt John's fingers make its way to his messy curls and tugging them lightly. He moaned against John's mouth as their tongues dueled with each other. He felt John coaxed his leg apart and his lover's erection pressed against his. He heard John moaned as he deepened their kiss, his arm wrapping on John's back bringing them closer. Heat in between them rising and sweat trickling on their naked bodies. This had always been Sherlock's favourite part when they make love. Him kissing John. He had developed a habit of changing the way he approaches John with a kiss. Sometimes slowly and tenderly, most times in a hurry. In which John does the same, a chaste kiss after a solved case and a reassuring one during the unsolved ones. A perfect harmony forming on their lips every single time.

His thoughts were then interrupted by John moving under the duvet. Sherlock spread his legs apart to give John space in which the latter oblidged. He closed his eyes as he felt John positioned—sighing in relief and pleasure as John's mouth conquered his length. After John's pulling and fumbling on him, Sherlock felt the coming sensation from his manhood, and he knew it wouldn't take long. 

"John." He called. And just like that, John knows.

Sherlock shivered on the abscence of John's mouth on his length and cringed as two fingers prepared him for intrusion right away. Hardly notices one of his leg ending up curved on John's shoulder. He barely heard John's whispers of assurance but only felt soft kisses on his hands, on the long column of his neck, on his palm, on his stomach, on the soft skin of his thighs—as John pushed inside him and filled him with his length. 

"A'right love?" He heard John asked, panting.  
"Y-Yes..." He whispered.

John pushed deeper and he came. Sherlock had always bullied John's small built, and short arm reach whenever they're on a case. But everytime they make love, John seemed to be everywhere around him. In him. Those small hands seem to reach every nook of his body, and even his mind palace only exist with John's informations. He forgets everything—even Moriarty. The thought of the plan invaded his mind again so he twisted his hips a bit to avoid distraction making John whimper. The night air thickened with them moving together as John reached climax. 

Sherlock held on to John's back as the aftermaths of pleasure overtook them. He cuddled so hard on John he felt he had broke the man's ribs. Eventually, he feels John move off him. He hears the small footsteps on the floorboards, the opening and closing of the doors of the bathroom. The shower opens and after a ten, closes, so as the tap. Sherlock tried opening his eyes but his exhaustion from their previous love making seem to get the best of him. So he just continued listening to the sounds John makes. After a while, he hears John's soft footsteps again, the dipping of the mattress and the contact of a wet fabric on his skin as John cleaned him good. Sherlock shivered but not for long, feeling the duvet raised to his shoulder. He felt the bed rocked a bit as John moved off again, he thrust his hand immediately and reached out to the shadow of a man standing beside his bed.

"John." He called out softly. Opening an eye, he saw John stilled, and turned to look at him.

He tried to search for those blue eyes in the dark but he fails so he just breathe the words out, "I love you."  
It took a moment before John took his hand, squeezed it and leaned on him for a kiss. He closed his eyes feeling John's soft lips end up on his forehead. John remained like that on him as his breathing slowly evened. He was on the verge of slumber when he felt something wet dropped on his cheek followed by a ragged whisper, "I love you too, Sherlock." 

Another drop—"Always." 

And Sherlock's thoughts faded as he succumbed to sleep. 

**####**

The next day was very different from any other day—most specifically, the night John and Sherlock just had. No cuddles were made, no kissing, no sex, no lingering glances. But just shouting, anger, disappointment. And Sherlock being left alone by John on the laboratory of Bart's. He let John leave to attend to Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, who's supposed to be attacked by a burglar on their flat but is rather safe at the moment. And of DI Lestrade who's probably seated on his office and solving dull cases, who was supposed to encounter an accident, his car blowing up. Mycroft's plan, in which John was unaware, is to counter Moriarty. Moriarty, who's plan was to destroy Sherlock and the people around him. But what Moriarty plans to do with John, that was still unknown. Sherlock hates not knowing. That's why he needed to fake himself. Let John believe that. And that he's a machine. That everything he says are not true. It was hard seeing pain crossed John's eyes. The anger vibrating throughout his small body. When he told him that he didn't care for Mrs. Hudson, nor for DI Lestrade—that the case at hand was more important—he saw disbelief and betrayal in John's eyes. And when John asked what he thought about his feelings for him—their relationship, what John meant to him? He couldn't look John in the eyes, so instead he just replied, "Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."  
He knows he's hurting John. But if hurting the only person he love, if this would keep John alive—and away from Moriarty. Even if John hates him all his life he'll accept it. 

Sherlock's phone pings and he takes it from the table. He reads the message and returns the phone again to his pocket. He picks up his coat and shrugs it on.

John said to him before leaving that 'Friends protect people.'

So Sherlock went on and took The Fall.


End file.
